Apartment Complex G8
by Breathing in Poison
Summary: Okay. You know that one place, right? That one house full of hectic collage teenager-renters? Yeah. Take that, then magnify it into a three-story apartment complex chock-full of crazy collage students, the majority of them men, and all of them very, very gay. ...Welcome to the club.
1. Chapter 1

APPARTMENT NUMBER G8

Chapter One: Intruders From the Right Wing

Apartment complex number G8 was, to say the least, a chaotic place.

Watch as a thin young man with long blonde hair and large grey-blue eyes bolts down the corridor, a suspicious black book clutched tightly to his chest and half-hidden by the worn leather jacket he has thrown hurriedly over his pajamas. Observe as he is chased by a teen clad in nothing but a towel tied hastily around his hips, bright green eyes glowing with anger as he shouts, scraggly brown hair plastered to his forehead with a mixture of sweat and soapy water. Feast your eyes on the sight as a pale, shirtless short man with noticeable abs and narrow, flashing silver eyes darts after the both, shouting profanities in a surprisingly deep voice-

Oh, wait. Wrong wing.

Divert your gaze over to the left, then, and note the appearance of a sleepy-eyed teenager with tousled blonde hair and striking blue eyes emerging from the door on the right corridor, surprise and mild annoyance written across his face. Gaze on in amusement, not on his American-flag boxers, but the sudden panic and abrupt realization that spreads rapidly across his face as he recognizes the incoming intruders and hastens to alert the rest of the building of their presence.

"Oh shit-HEY! EVERYONE! IT'S THEM AGAIN! GET BERWALD, IVAN, AND LUDWIG OUT HERE, _QUICK!_"

Various other confused faces appear in the door along the hall, some curious, some bewildered, and others mostly pissed off, but of all of them, only three actually muster the courage to walk out into the hallway, all of them big, burly males with evident muscles and even more evident pissed-off faces. Well, all but one, who had a creepy smile stretched across his face and a noticeably dark aura radiating off of him in a rough three-foot radius.

The blonde rounds the turn in the corridor, bare feet skidding slightly on the polished tile floor, and charges ahead, eyes not registering the trap lurking sullenly in the corridor. He gives the area behind him a terrified glance, big eyes wide and full of fear, and then suddenly he's gone, disappearing upward into the air with a terrified squeak. The same results happen to the screaming brunet about a second later, arms trapped behind his back and legs still moving weakly as a long metal pipe is held to his throat.

"Calm yourself, comrade," Ivan says cheerfully, holding the struggling teen with little to no effort. "Six in the morning is really not an appropriate time for battle, da?"

The adolescent let out a throaty yell in response, which almost immediately broke off into a choking, sputtering noise as the grip on the pipe tightened.

"'Ly, off, Braginsky," grumbled Berwald, adjusting his grip on his prisoner, who stopped his weak struggling and immediately went limp, gasping in relief. "Y' don' have te choke 'im."

"Okay!" The Russian exclaimed cheerfully, half-releasing the hold on his victim, who collapsed and started panting, eyes bugging out of his head. "Just as long as he doesn't struggle, da?"

The soft pad of bare feet on cold marble alerted them to the third's presence as he came up the hallway, cool gaze fixed unblinkingly on their faces. He came to a stop barely a foot in front of Ludwig, cricking his neck up to glare up at the other man, still half-tensed for capture. The two initiated a staring contest, Ludwig looking slightly intimidated despite the fact that his enemy was a full foot shorter and several times smaller than him.

"Tch," clicked the intruder, glancing away from Ludwig to fix a death stare at the other two captors, who flinched despite themselves. He prowled over to the brunet and yanked his chin down, staring deep into his terrified green orbs.

"Stupid brats..." he muttered, flicking the other under the chin (ignoring the resulting howl of pain) and stalking away. Ivan watched him with a sort of terrible fascination. "What the hell aggravated you this time?"

This spurred his victim into speech, who began twisting and howling all over again.

"It was his fault!" He cried, pointing at the blonde, who flinched. "He got out the family album! Not fair!"

"I don't give a shit about what's fair or not," the short man growled. "You fucked things up all over again, and now I'm gonna have to be the one to clean up your mess. Are you really so constipated that your unfortunate ability to shit started to backfire on your horrifically simple brain as well?"

He turned and nodded curtly to the bewildered tenants, gaze lingering on the nearly-indistinguishable Swede and German. "I can take them from here."

He roughly grabbed the two trembling high schoolers by the scruff of the neck and whirled around, apparently not noticing the sign taped to the back of his jeans that said SLAP ME in big black letters.

The shrieking that echoed back went on for a long, long time.

"Mein Gott..." Sighed the German, shaking his head slowly. "Those people sure are strange...

It was only once the feeble protests and high-pitched shrieks of pain faded away when the scruffy nearly-naked blonde reemerged from behind a potted plant, a stupid grin tugging at his lips. He pulled out a pair of glasses from who-knows-where and put them on with an air of great importance before leaping up with a triumphant whoop, almost as if he was the one to single-handedly neutralize the random pack of bat-shit crazy enemy tenants that had run into their territory (again).

The hired hands glared at him (again, all except for Ivan, who was staring into the corridor with ominous "kol kol kol's" issuing from his throat). Ludwig and Berwald glanced at each other, and, in a rare moment of silent agreement, advanced on the loud American.

"Und why didn't you help out?!" Growled Ludwig, glaring down at Alfred threateningly. He was still pretty terrifying, despite the fact that his eyes were blurred with sleep, his pale blonde hair was tousled up and hanging down into his eyes, and he was wearing a pair of baby blue boxers with little puppy dogs dancing across them.

"Ahaha...um...scary well, you see, I thought I would leave it to the _big_, _muscular, ripped_, _totally handsome_ crazy-person-handlers this time 'cause I'm the hero who_ totally _wants other people to feel _good_ about themselves and let them get a chance to try to prove themselves..."

"That so," grumbled Berwald, giving Alfred a look that could either be tired or coldly angry. "So why 'r we alw'ys th' ones t' grab 'em when th'y run rampn't?"

"Because...because..." Alfred's voice rose to a terrified squeak.

Luckily for him, he was saved from having to answer by the arrival of a sleepy Italian. "Ve-Luddy, what time is it? I'm tired..."

Feliciano trudged into the hallway, yawning and stretching as he went. To the relief of everyone around him (except for maybe Ludwig) he was wearing underwear today, though that itself barely qualified, considering the fact that they were tight and riding low enough on his thin hips to give the unwilling viewers a glimpse of some...body parts that really shouldn't be seen at this time of the morning, if one wished to preserve their innocence.

Ludwig sighed and brought a hand up to his eyes (though not before thoroughly enjoying the sight in front of him) "It's six am, Feliciano."

"Ve...too early. Did the weird people come again, Luddy?" asked Feliciano, reaching small arms around the German's thick neck and nuzzling his nose against his ear. Ludwig's icy blue eyes softened a fraction.

"Yes, they did, Feli," he murmured, brushing red-gold hair away from sleepy amber eyes and scooping the unrelenting Italian into his arms as he began walking towards the bedroom. "Don't worry about it; they're gone now."

"Woah, they really must be tired!" Whispered Alfred, entranced. "They're acting all gay and cuddly together out in public view with people watching!"

"Th'n let's give 'em some privacy," Answered Berwald, grabbing the American by the scruff and pulling him away by the scruff of his neck. "Th'y wouldn't wan' ye intruden' on th're lovemakin'"

"Aw, com on man, lemme down, I wanna watch! I bet Feli's totally the seme, that would be so hot, haha, lemme down! They're probably making out as we speak! I'm missing out on all the action!"

The yammering voice slowly faded down the left corridor as the emotionless Swede dragged the struggling American along, presumably towards the landing that would lead them to the downstairs kitchen. There was a small commotion when Alfred escaped, marked by triumphant shouts, high-pitched panicked screams in Finnish, and a steady stream of very angry British cursing as two of the other residents were awoken by the crashing of the two men fighting.

Ivan Braginsky stood forgotten in the empty hallway, purple eyes smoldering. He looked thoughtfully down the right passage, where the other students had long disappeared into the dark, then glanced over to left, where a clamour of irritable voices speaking a plethora of different languages was slowly rising in volume.

"Weird?" he chuckled, apparently talking to the inanimate metal pipe in his hand. "I think that we are far stranger than the muscly guy and his minions, da?"

The pipe stayed silent. Ivan shrugged, apparently used to this treatment, and wandered off to the left, where the scent of breakfast was rising.

END OF CHAPTER ONE

A/N: Wow, this is pure crack. Warning you now, I'll be trying my hand at humor now, though there WILL be angst from the Forgotten Trio (Canada, Prussia, Romano). This is only my second Hetalia fanfic, so if I got any of the characterizations wrong, let me know :)

Oh, and can anybody guess the three intruders? They're from a really popular anime...hehe...and they also happen to be my babies, so... ;) Kudos to those who guess correctly!


	2. Chapter 2

Ah, breakfast time. What a wonderful, glorious introduction to a new day; waking up to a new sunrise, heading down to the kitchen to feast on a rich, satisfying meal before heading out on your next mission-

Actually, scratch that. "Breakfast" in the complex was more like feeding time at the zoo, when the keepers would throw bucketfulls of food into the exhibits and then watched as various wild animals fought tooth and nail over the strangest things, like a scrap of fish eye or the green end of a ripe banana.

The way the building was constructed was actually less like an apartment and more like some weird hybrid of a house and a hotel. The whole first floor was pretty much a strange clash of a family room (TV included) running up into an enormous kitchen space with an absolutely massive dining table placed right smack in the middle. People of a variety of different races ran amok, arguing over which type of breakfast food was better-one could easily pick out Arthur arguing with Francis over the virtues of scones, his voice raising higher and higher in pitch as his indignation rose with each accusation. Several of the younger raced around trying to get ready for school, voices raising in panic when they couldn't find their pencils or Language Arts notebooks (even though the majority of them secretly wished that was the case when a comrade tossed their possession over to them). Food was thrown onto and across the table, utensils clattered noisily against plates, deranged singing drifted out from the crowd, maddeningly high-pitched...

Yep, just another ordinary weekday morning.

(Don't worry, the weekends are even more hectic.)

Ludwig slammed a pan full of sausages down on the stove and twisted to avoid a pair of thrashing bodies ricocheting around the cramped space (Arthur and Francis, surely; those two wouldn't leave off even if it was the end of the world) before reaching over and plucking Alfred out of the mix. The obnoxious American smiled guiltily, not even trying to hide the half-eaten cupcakes grasped loosely in his fist. A passing tenant caught sight of the German's pink frilly apron and sniggered; Ludwig smacked him with a spatula without looking and fixed Alfred with his sternest glare, though the effect was somewhat diminished with all his obnoxiously pink cooking getup (blame Lovino for _that_ birthday present)

"If Oliver made those cupcakes, you are a dead man," Ludwig said dispassionately, studying Alfred's face carefully. "You know how he is with his cooking."

"Aw, no man, Oliver hasn't visited once in the past year!" whined Alfred, twisting in his grasp. "I'm like, totally safe! I promise I won't start turning blue and start foaming at the mouth like last time!"

"I am perfectly avare of how long ago Oliver popped in. I'm not stupid. He's got a habit of hiding them in the most auspicious places...und did you remember to check for blood or bones before eating zem?"

"What?" Alfred visibly paled.

Ludwig sighed and facepalmed. "Mein Gott, you are hopeless...Arthur! Did your bruder have any food items on him vhen he last came here?"

The Englishman stopped fighting with Francis long enough to shoot the two a venomous glare. "Which brother? You know I have too many bloody relatives to keep track of the gits...oh, you can't possibly mean _OLIVER_?!"

"Zhat's the one," said Ludwig, unmoved by the man's spitting anger.

Arthur struggled silently with his rage for several minutes, face going red as he tried to contain his fury and keep his "impeccable English gentleman" from exploding in a barrage of furiously spitted British curses.

At long last, he finally relaxed and let out a resigned breath, green eyes taking on a resigned hue. "Oliver? No, he didn't bring anything, I made sure. Bloody pissed me off, and tried to slit my throat a few times, but other than that, he behaved himself."

"Gute." Ludwig tossed Alfred towards Arthur (who "caught" him with an indignant cat-like screech) and marched out of the kitchen, pan with sausages in hand.

The majority of the tenants were already settled at the table, digging into the meal and laughing. Feli was there, (mercifully wearing clothes) as well as Ivan, sitting off in a secluded corner (with that same creepy aura radiating off of him-no change there). Antonio was sitting in a stool singing what appeared to be a Spanish love song to his red-faced boyfriend, Lovino (much to Feli and Elizabeta's delight, of whom he was franticly flipping off). Ludwig absently noticed that the southern Italian's curl was kinked in the shape of a heart, much like the way Feli's does when they...never mind.

Something niggled in the back of his mind and he did another quick scan, mentally counting the number of heads and sorting through his memory for the correct amount of people that occupied the apartment. One person was missing...oh, wait.

"Someone go vake up Gilbert." He growled, pulling out a chair and sitting beside Feliciano. "He's going to be late again and I _vill not_ take the blame again just because mein bruder's a socially incompetent fool."

Nervous chattering replaced the conversation as he spoke, people exchanging fearful glances and trying to nudge each other up for the job. The self-proclaimed Prussian didn't exactly have a healthy reputation in the community-he was a heavy sleeper, often missing the morning wakeup call, and had a tendency to be a savage fighter when disturbed from sleep. Not to mention he had a strange fascination with claiming people's "vital regions".

In fact, he was considered so much of a social outcast that he was forced to live in the basement, instead of an actual room like a normal person.

Not that he minded.

At least, that's what _he_ always said.

Feli was chosen to go in the end, mostly because of his sweet disposition and the fact that he was one of the few people Gilbert actually _liked-_ as a human being, not a punch bag.

The little Italian disappeared down the basement steps with little to no argument other than a wary look around, oblivious to the tearful stares and mutters of "Dear God help him" that accompied his decent. Ludwig watched him, concerned, then waved off his worry with an irritated huff. His older brother loved Feliciano, practically doted on him-he had nothing to worry about.

Besides, if Gil lunged at him, Ludwig would know. Feli's screams were piercing and just about the shrillest sound he'd ever had the misfortune of hearing, other than a fire truck siren.

Five minutes passed before his...friend made a reappearance, laughing and squirming as a grinning and totally rapt Prussian followed him, tickling his sides and sniggering happily every time the little Italian smiled.

That is, until he lifted his head and saw everyone watching. Indecipherable emotions flickered in burning crimson eyes before lighting up with malicious intent. A slow, dangerous grin spread across his face before he stalked forward, strides long and jaunty and confident despise the pink-heart pajama pants and fluffy chick slippers that clad his lower half.

"Wessssssttttt!" The albino greeted his brother, fingers angling to frame his face as he carefully slipped out of the stronger one's grabbing range, conveniently placing him next to a certain irritable Austrian.

Ludwig glared at him, silently warning him not to do it, but Gilbert, as usual, paid no heed to common sense and went straight on to idiocy.

"Hey AUSTTTRIA," he snarled, thumping a hand down on the back of the other man's chair. "Fancy meeting you so late! Usually you're over at the music hall groveling at the feet of those stuffy old-"

Roderich didn't answer. He didn't have to.

A frying pan flew out of the kitchen at lightning speed and struck the self-declared Prussian expertly on the head with all the precision of a deadly throwing knife. Gilbert crumpled to the floor, dazed and trembling, as Elizabeta stalked out of the kitchen, glaring and turning a second skillet between her fingers. She marched over to the petrified German and yanked her first pan out from the marmalade (where it had landed, much to the dismay of a certain hungry Latvian), casually planting a boot on his chest and turning him over, pinning him to the ground. He whimpered and locked his arms protectively around his face, but the furious Hungarian pried them apart with ease, staring into his unusual maroon eyes with no hint of uncertainty or reluctance.

"U-uh...Hi, Eliza..." He squeaked, flinching away from her unwavering stare in terror. "G-guten morgen..."

"Gilbert." She said sternly, green eyes flashing. "What did I tell you about bothering Roderich?"

"To not to, or you vould kick my ass," The albino muttered reluctantly. "But Eliza, you don't know vhat I lost because of him..."

"Your job, your self-esteem, and, most importantly, me," said Elizabeta matter-of-factly. "Yes, I'm quite aware. Need I remind you that those issues were primarily your fault in the first place?"

Gilbert's red eyes flashed with anger and more than a little hurt. "But-"

"No buts." Elizabeta yanked him up by the front of his shirt and tossed him away from her, sending him stumbling into the table and crashing into an empty seat.

He tossed silvery pale hair out of his eyes and glared at her, hurt etched into his expression, but she looked away before he could seek out answers.

"The past is in the past, Gilbert," she said softly. "You had your chance, and you lost it. Do not aggravate old wounds."

With that, the Hungarian turned and left, pausing only to briefly bury her face into a concerned Roderich's shoulder when he reached out to her. A long moment passed, and then she straightened herself, shaking hair out of her eyes and returning to the kitchen without looking back.

"Ve...what was that about?" Whispered Feliciano, staring after his old caretaker with confusion written on his face, then turning to stare worriedly at a blank-faced Gilbert. Ludwig hadn't even noticed him returning.

"Nothing, Feli," he whispered, giving the Italian a quick stroke on the back when nobody was looking. Feli gave him a grateful look, but didn't ask for more. He knew how touchy his lover could be about public displays of affection. "Just a little spat between old friends."

It was much more than just a little fight, Ludwig knew, glancing at an unusually still Gilbert. But Feli didn't have to know that.

.

.

.

Minutes past, breakfast ended and dissolved into a clatter of people pulling on backpacks and coats and searching for car keys, but they all passed in a blur of indecipherable colour and background noise to one frozen, mask-faced young man with silver-white hair and burning crimson eyes. He sat perfectly still where he landed, body rigid, his white-knuckled grip on the table and unusually darkened eyes the only sign of his inner torment. His entire frame vibrated slightly with barely-caged energy, heart humming in his chest despite the stiff way he held himself.

At last he stirred, and even then only to bow his head in barely-acknowledged defeat.

"_Verdammt_...I should have known..." he muttered to himself, voice hollow with shocked grief. His grip tightened as the all-too familiar sting of tears jabbed at his eyes. "She knows me too well..."

A soft squeak from underneath him startled him out of the darkness crowding his mind and set his senses on high alert, primordial instincts tingling under his skin. He whirled around to stare wide-eyed at the newly-vaccinated chair, blinking the treacherous tear away, and came face-to-face with a trembling little blonde that he'd never seen before...or at least, he didn't think that he'd ever seen him before.

"Oh, _hallo_," Gilbert blinked. Those purple-blue eyes seemed familiar... "I don't think I met you before... who are you again?"

The man shrank, dipping his head to conceal his shimmering eyes behind thick-lensed glasses. "M-Matthew Williams."

The Prussian tilted his head and let out a devious smile. "Greetings! I am ze awesome Gilbert Beilschmidt, keeper of ze basement, pure-blooded descendent of ze awesome citizens of ze lost kingdom of PreuBen. Though don't tell West that...he alvays thought ve vere German..." He frowned. "Vot?"

Matthew couldn't help but stare. "Your accent thickened..." He reached up and timidly brushed locks Gilbert's silver hair out of his face, touch light and fingers soft against his skin. "And your eyes are red..."

Gilbert blinked and automatically reached up to tug his hair in front of his eyes, shielding them from view. "Oh, that it? Yeah, my voice does that vhen I' not paying attention...and ze reason vhy zere red is 'cause I'm an albino. I'm not a demon, I swear!"

Matthew dropped his hand and gazed up at the German-a bold move on his part, considering the fact that he could barely meet his eyes and his heart was nearly hammering out of his chest.

"I like your eyes," he said softly, a reddish tinge colouring his pale cheeks.

But his compliment went unnoticed. Gilbert had twisted to glanced at the clock, suddenly alarmed, and let out a very loud barrage of German swear words.

"SH-look, sorry Mattie, but Vest is gonna kick my ass if I'm late again, which means I gotta leave RIGHT NOW and oh VERDAMMT vhy does school have to be so GODDAMNED EARLY..."

With that, the frantic Prussian vaulted away from the table, racing towards the front door and nearly tripping over his backpack on the way. Mattie watched, stunned, as he threw open the door, then nearly jolted out of his skin when Gilbert suddenly twisted around to glance over his shoulder-straight at the forgotten Canadian.

"AUF WIDERSEHEN, MATTIE!" He screamed, even though the blonde was only a few meters away. "I VILL TALK TO YOU LATER, OKAY!"

And with that he was gone, slamming the door shut behind him with enough force to nearly rattle off its hinges.

Mattie blinked, even more shocked than normal, and slowly lifted his hand, sweeping it across his face in a tentative wave.

"Bye, Gilbert," he said quietly, watching the departing car, then turned to go and clean breakfast up.

A/N: AAAND IT HAS BEGUN! :D Well, that happened. Sorry for the angst and my terrible Multilanguage skills, I promise that the next chapter will have more fluff ;)


End file.
